Memoirous

Day 4, 45 miles I’d washed out my single pair of underwear the night before and hung up in the tent. That’s what I put on the next day. No microfiber towel to help dry them. Oh, well. I also tried to use the stove at the picnic table after packing up. This time it didn’t even spark or flare. Nada. At least I had an apple and part of my sub. And not too far to ride. I got going quick because of not making oatmeal etc. I was riding by 8:15. Sunday morning. Very serene. Google put me on dirt roads, which I usually hate, but in the a.m. quiet and feeling rested, I was so happy. About 12 miles to Owosso. Sixteen minutes later it starts to mist. At a little country church with Jesus Country music on outside speakers I slip on rain pants while members pull into parking lot. I get invited to Bible study. I tell them I want to get home. The landscape reminds me of an Andrew Wyeth painting: muted golds, reds, and browns. The miles come easy. In Owosso I found a gas station and filled up te...

 Day 3, 74 miles Another cold or coldish night (42℉). I was surprised because the sky was crystal clear—but it rained a bit during the night. Also, the dew was heavy and in the a.m. tent, etc was wet. Nevertheless, I got packed up quick and pushed bike up the hill to church picnic shelter, where I fired up my stove to make oatmeal and reheat tea. Hmmm. It didn’t seem as hot. All I could seem to accomplish was a warming up. I suspected the fuel. Something wasn’t quite right. I had a big day and it was Saturday. I would complete the Pere Marquette in Midland and continue on roads to near St. Charles where I’d staked out another stealth spot. So far I was batting zero with these. But, again, hoped everything would turn out. What could I do? So far I’d forgotten my food bag and had to do Plan B for camping spots and things were going well. And now possibly my stove was acting up. I was tired and, just like the day before, each “depot” stop was an occasion to potty, drink tea, stretch. ...

Day 2, 74 miles I slept great in the woods. It was cold in the morning as I packed up. I screwed on a new fuel cannister to my Snow Peak.   It was a bigger size than normal and a Coleman. It burned so quick and hot. I thought, Man, I’m gonna get another one of these. They’re great! I reheated tea with the idea of refilling with hot water down the path in Stanwood where there was a diner right off the path. Back on the White Pine the colors in the soft morning light were just gorgeous. I saw up ahead the blinking taillight of a cyclist. I rode toward it and toward Morley, a quaint town with a damned up pond and nice bridge just as you come in. The Corner Diner had a breakfast sandwich for $5; I got one to go. After Stanwood came Big Rapids, which I thought was going to be a bigger town or at least a speed bump. But, no, I was past it in no time I stopped for potty and to check out Paris County Park, which offers camping. It was completely shut down. No water. I rode down the pat...

Day 1, 40 miles There are so many ways to talk yourself out of adventure and beauty. I was anxious before the trip about weather and the number of miles. But in the end, it all turned out great! Better than sitting around home making excuses and wishing I could be out in the colors. These bright days won’t last forever. More than anything, I needed a retreat, a way to drop out of life for a bit and just fold into nature and the apex of the moment. This Fall Bike Ride did all that. Started in Okemos where I rode to the Indian Trails bus stop, where I attempted to cover the bike according to their rules, but the driver was impatient and hurriedly asked me just to load it in. The bus was full. Never had that before. We were late arriving in Grand Rapids—not because of me, hahaha—and I quickly strapped stuff onto bike and tried to sort myself out of the district. It was designated street riding until I crossed a bridge to get on trail, then another crossing that was confusing near 131 ...

“Circa 1984”, a flash that was at Switch in 2025 has been nominated for Best of the Net. Switch is available online—devoted to microfiction that strays from the beaten path and carries the reader forward. Submissions are capped at 300 words. “We started Switch in homage to the much beloved ¶, A Magazine of Paragraphs.  A hard copy literary magazine the size of a deck of cards, Paragraph was created by poet Karen Donovan and writer Walker Rumble at their Oat City Press, Holyoke, MA in 1985. Paragraph published just that: single paragraphs of 200 words or less, at a time when the beauty and literary quality of "flash" and "microfiction" were just beginning to become widely recognized. In 2005, Karen and Walker published #25, their final issue of ¶, A Magazine of Paragraphs. Switch is our tribute to this gem of microfiction history.” Thanks so much for the nod—also nominated “The Wall” by Rick Byrne.  

Roving Across Fields The work of William Stafford Edited by Thom Tammaro Barnyard Press,  1983 I recently picked up a slim volume from my local Friends of the Library book sale here in Okemos. Hahaha, I actually was confused. I was thinking of Wallace Stegner. So I ended up learning more about William Stafford and his place in the world of poetry. The book was published locally in Daleville, Indiana, I’m assuming by fellow pacifist poets and English profs. The book was signed by the editor Thom Tammaro who included a group interview with Stafford. The book begins by recalling meeting Stafford at a professional gathering in Chicago 1976. Tammaro’s observations seem almost naïve compared to today’s world of constant screens and algorithms. “Miraculous in the Common.” “Stafford’s poems draw together the seemingly disjointed experiences of life and transform them into a spiritual unity. His poems are important events which bear witness to a greater beauty which lives in the world....

Love, Joe: The Selected Letters of Joe Brainard Edited by Daniel Kane Columbia University Press, 2024 I’ve really been looking forward to reading this book. I’m a member of the New York School Network (member, meaning I get their newsletter). There was mention of the book and a launch plus reading in NYC and I zoomed in. It has taken a while for my local library system to get the book. Truthfully, I forgot about it until when browsing the catalogue online, I was nudged: “you might like.” The letters are by no means complete, but the selection gives us such a wonderful window into the life/loves/passion/creative juices of Joe Brainard. It’s hard not to be impressed by such a shy, humble artist. He had an uneasy relationship with art, which doesn’t negate his contribution(s) to the New York School treasure chest of work. One cannot help feeling nostalgic for the simplicity of the times in which he wrote these letters. By the end AIDS and untimely deaths were complicating relationships...